Persuasion
by ct522
Summary: "Even if by some miracle I did survive and he did not - if I did not follow him to the grave from desperation soon after - I would live my entire life trying to solve the puzzle of how to get him out." What would have happened on the beach during the Quarter Quell if Finnick had not interrupted them? *2013 EVERLARK SMUT AWARDS NOMINEE!*
1. Chapter 1

**This one-shot was actually borne from a discussion mellarksloaves was having on her tumbr blog, in which she discusses what might have happened if Peeta and Katniss had been able to go further on the beach. What could have been the possible consequences? As a result, I decided to write a one-shot exploring this possibility. This is something she was planning on doing and, no doubt, because of the caliber of her writing, it will be a far better product than mine but this is the result of that "eavesdropping."**

**I'm taking a vote – would you like to see where this story could end? It could cover the end of Catching Fire and all of Mockingjay including the post-epilogue period. It would look very different from my current fanfic, Good Again. I look forward to your feedback on this!**

**Disclaimer: Italics are direct quotes from the novel Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins. I do not own any of the characters of this or any other book from her wonderful trilogy.**

**One-Shot: Persuasion**

He'd put together that locket, at what expense both personal and material, I could only imagine, for the sole purpose of persuading me to let him die. His intention had been to entrap me with the faces I loved, had devoted my life to protect. And it did move me but not in the way he intended. My sudden irrational desire was indeed to live, but not at his expense. I suddenly wanted to know how many shades of gold his lashes could reflect, the color of his mussed hair at 30 or 40. How different would the meadow look to me if I walked through it with him? What would the cheese buns taste like if we made them together?

But this was not mine to ask. Snow would see to it that if one of us had to leave the arena, it would not be me. Even if by some miracle I did survive and he did not - if I did not follow him to the grave from desperation soon after - I would live my entire life trying to solve the puzzle of how to get him out. I would be more drunk on grief than Haymitch, more ice than Johanna.

_ "No one really needs me," he says, and there's no self pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me._

_"I do," I say. "I need you." He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I'll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss._

_I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down._

_This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind._

What is left of my suit is not enough to contain the heat that comes off of my skin. I wrap myself around him, straddling his waist, tugging his head back to deepen the kiss in that incontrovertible way that left no doubt what I wanted from him. I could almost feel the collective shudder of all of Panem as they watch me unravel, having lost all concern for the existence of anyone outside of the both of us. My participation in this race of beings had ended the moment I entered the tube that shunt me into this watery arena. So had also ended my obligation to decorum or consideration for the masses that bet and took pleasure from my suffering, or who wept and raged against it. There had been couplings in the games before – furious fumblings under blankets, between bushes or simply up against a tree. Many were voluntary but some had been acts of force, an effort to dominate at least one thing in a world where no one had true control. But this was not the coupling of desperation in an attempt to squeeze some last cheap thrill out of life before it was ripped away. This was surely much more painful than pleasurable to watch. In our arms was a tunnel that began to close, at the end of which was a full epic life that was being mourned before it was lived. This was a farewell to things unseen, the snuffing out of a light that I could imagine only the most hardened of hearts would be able to sit through without an aching remorse.

I grip him tighter to me as he runs his hands up my sides, gently pushing me back. His eyes are bright as he speaks.

"Katniss, what are you doing?" He said this which such tenderness, running his hand over my cheek as if I were an errant child. I shook my head – I did not want him to talk me out of anything – not the locket, not this. I was never good with words so I ground my hips into him, giving him another deep kiss.

"Katniss, the cameras…" he gasped.

"Damn the world, Peeta. Why should I care about them?" I said resolutely.

He pulls back and considers me, nodding to himself as if making a decision and pulls my neck towards him, sliding his lips over my jaw and down my neck, greedily laving my skin until goose bumps spread to the ends of my fingers and toes. I hold his head close as his tongue runs between my breasts, oblivious to the salty taste of the layer of sweat and sea that covers both of our bodies. I feel his nose nudge the material of my tank top until his mouth encircles my small breasts, covering the nipples, partly to draw them out, partly from a remaining desire to hide that small intimacy from the ever present drone of the cameras in the trees and bushes. He sucks long and hard until he has made the tips throb, the sensation flaring down to the deepest place in my abdomen. My head falls back as I arch against his mouth, wordlessly begging him to continue. Carefully replacing the material, he does the same with the other one, smothering them in his hot lips, covering them at the same time with his hands. I moan quietly into his hair, my fingers tangled in the blond sweaty curls that are matted to his neck.

I instinctively grind my hips into his hardened desire, the pressure through the flimsy material causing me to throb painfully, my gyrations not enough to relieve the incredible heat that has built up there. I slide my hands down his back and pull back to kiss his neck and shoulders, showering them with wet, hot kisses. He leans back on his hands as I run my mouth over his chest and bend awkwardly to pull up his shirt and to do to his nipples what he has done to mine. He draws in his breath sharply, the muscles in his abdomen contracting as I let my teeth graze him gently. He lifts one hand to my head to pull my lips closer, acknowledging the pleasure I am giving him. I am devouring him, fleetingly hoping that our families have shut their eyes to this and will forgive us this last wonton display of abandon.

He straightens up suddenly, looking at me with blue eyes gone slate with desire, a question hovering in them. Always so considerate, even now giving me my exit if I want to take it. But I am too far gone, the world having fallen away from me until there is nothing left but the hot sand beneath my knees and Peeta, rising up from it. I simply nod as I slide my hand between us, reaching under the waist band to grasp his hardened cock in my fingers. He pulls up to crush his mouth against mine, my lips protesting helplessly against the onslaught of his tongue ripping its way into my mouth. He slides the material of my underwear to the side, using his arms as best he can to cover my hips as I free him from the confines of the suffocating material, lifting myself just enough to feel the tip against my wet, sodden center. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for his penetration as I sink down onto him, his thick tip pushing through my folds until he is partially engulfed, my gasp muffled into his shoulder. I want to moan open mouthed into the night, damning the entire world with my shouts but I simply bring my lips to his ears and hiss his name "Peeta…" as I sheath myself over the entire length of him, the prickle of pain causing every muscle in my body to clench in spasms. His response is a guttural moan that threatens to bring the jungle down on our backs.

We sit there for a moment, panting, getting used to the feeling of him buried inside of me. Here is when I begin to move, slowly at first as I stroke the pain and discomfort away, replacing it with the feeling of a coil that is tightening in my belly with each plunge and pull. There is no way to hide this part so we simply stop trying. Peeta takes my hips in both of his hands and begins to lift and lower me until we find a rhythm and I begin to ride him in earnest. His face is turned upwards towards me and I bring my head down to kiss him roughly, my hands using his shoulders as leverage, my nails digging painfully into his skin. The muscles of my legs ache from the effort to sustain the increasing urgency of our movements. He soon wraps his arms around me, burying his face into my chest as I feel the edge of the world hurtle towards me. Soon I will be in space, stepping off of a cliff into a place I've never been. When everything I know falls away from me and my entire body begins to contract, I throw my head back, biting my lip hard until I almost taste blood to keep myself from shouting his name into the night. The waves that crash over me threaten to drown me and I whimper with the pain of restraint. His name tumbles out in hisses over and over as my orgasm takes me away with it, forcing tears out of my eyes.

As the contractions squeeze around him, I feel the burst of air from his lungs against my chest as he begins to mount his own summit, the sound of a wounded animal escaping his lips. "Katniss, I can't hold on anymore." he snarls as his own release crashes over him, his cock spasming inside of me. I begin to sob as I feel the heat spread inside of me, his fingers buried painfully into my back. He tries to restrain an open-mouthed groan by putting his lips firmly onto my breast, sucking hard on it through the thin material. His entire body shudders and then stills as he continues to hold me in place for several minutes. I pull back to look at him, seeing that he too is crying. I put my forehead to his and rest it there, trying to reconcile what has just happened with the reality of the world we live in – the games, the audiences, the shattered barriers between us. We are crying openly now, no effort being made to quiet our sobs.

"I love you Katniss. I'm sorry it had to be like this." His voice shook and I know he is apologizing that our first time had to be here, on this beach, though the audience believes I am already with child. I could not have known that this last desperate act had set off a full blown revolt in Districts 4, 6 and 9, sending explosions and citizen strikes throughout the ranks of peacekeepers, decimating further the Capitol's hold on them. District 12 would soon burn so little did I know my concern for my family's dignity was a futile one, for they would soon be running for their lives. I could not have known how many Capitol citizens had indeed turned away, the rumblings of rage roiling the full bellies of pampered, powdered discontent. We had done it again, without realizing it. We had created a wind that further toppled the house of cards upon which Snow's power had been built, a gale for which we would pay dearly. But for now, it was only Peeta and I, lost in the utter solitude of our grief.

I'm choking on the words, finding them strange on my lips. "I love you, Peeta," I said though my tears. "Not just for the cameras." I whisper before taking his mouth again and kissing him, an intense, burning kiss of longing and sadness, as if this too were a bird I was preparing to release.

When the lightning struck, waking Finnick, we were still locked deeply together, oblivious to the cracking electricity in the air. His sharp cry pierces the air and I look over to see his fingers digging deep into the sand, no doubt waking from one of his own panoply of nightmares.

He offers to relieve one of us from the watch when he sees our faces, the tears, the way we are wrapped around each other, the disheveled flush of our skin. "Or both of you. I can watch alone."

Peeta won't hear of it and, unwrapping ourselves painfully from one another, brings me to where the others sleep, placing the locket around my neck and resting his hand over my belly. _"You're going to make a great mother, you know," he says this as he places one last lingering kiss on my lips and goes back to Finnick._ My body is achingly empty where he had once been. I struggle to find sleep, finally losing myself in an exquisite dream that involves Peeta and a small blond boy running through the high grass of our meadow, leaving me breathless with joy. However, there was no way either of us could know that more than just a revolt was created that night – the seed was growing in me, the seed that would make our last great lie the most powerful truth of all.

**XXXXX**

**I look forward to your reviews! Should I go on?**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was really overwhelmed by the response I got to this one-shot turned multi-fic. I am so grateful to each of you for your feedback and encouragement. I try to respond to everyone personally so if I have not thanked you, I promise you it is an oversight and not intentional. I have the loveliest reviewers in the entire world :). **

**I have to give a shout-out to SolasVioletta, who I begged to be ruthless with her editing. Her mastery of the language and pacing puts me to shame. You've earned your cookies! **

**I always need to give props to my dear friend, TiffOdair, who reads my stories through and is always so unfailingly kind and encouraging, even when she is under the weather. I appreciate you so very much.**

**Disclaimer: Mature themes and situations.**

**Chapter 2 – Feint**

I wake in the morning with a feeling of such utter happiness, I ache to return to the dream that had occasioned it. As I reach out for it, it begins to evaporate like the morning mist on the forest floor. In that tenuous world between waking and sleep, I see a small, blond boy who would never know the bone-chilling fear of the Reaping, a beautiful boy who was truly _safe_. He is the spitting image of Peeta, except his eyes are Seam grey and he looks to me with the air of expectancy as he raises his chubby arms, a word ready to fall from his lips…

And then I remember where I am and the vision dissipates, leaving me forlorn, missing something that I have never had. The infernal humidity of the jungle makes me feel sticky and grimy but for once, I don't mind it. I touch my lips, tracing the path of his Peeta's mouth over mine and recall every kiss I shared last night with him, a rush of heat on my already burning skin overwhelming me. I run my hands down over my neck, imagining his dried sweat mingled with mine and revel in the fact that I still carry him in this way, like brands over my skin. And my legs, still sticky from our sex…

I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. I have an objective that will not be reached by fantasizing, no matter how tempting it is to remain in this cloud of content. It is my last wish.

_I have to keep Peeta alive, even if the world has to burn. Even if I have to burn along with it._

I stand up and dust the sand off, moving quietly out from between the trees towards the beach. I am just in time to see the parachute float onto the sand. After watching Finnick count out the twenty-four rolls, my eyes sweep the group until they find Peeta. He has been staring at me but when our eyes lock onto each other, neither of us can hold the gaze. As if by mutual agreement, our eyes flit away from each other.

I shiver with a terrible urge to pull him behind one of those gnarled, insipid tree-trunks and kiss him indefinitely, but the boldness that had inspired my actions last night is gone in the harsh light of day. I shake my head again as I consider our situation. We can't keep this alliance. I can't assure Peeta's safety if I am unable to understand the motives of the other tributes – Beetee, Finnick and Johanna. Why does everyone persist in protecting Peeta, at great cost to themselves? I wish with all of my heart that I could speak to Haymitch right at that moment. He would know. Something in me told me he could clear a path out of my confusion and help me make the right decision.

_Remember who the real enemy is._

After eating, I take Peeta's hand, surprising him with the sudden contact. "Come on. I'll teach you how to swim." We wade quietly out into the water, the skin of my fingertips prickling against his as I pull him along. My focus wants to ooze into the sultry air of the arena and I sternly pull it back into place. We are both nervous, the tension flitting between us like a drunken butterfly. When the water is waist-deep, I quietly teach him how to float though, with the flotation belt, it is a moot point. I feel Johanna's eyes on me but she is soon off to nap. I run one arm under Peeta's chest and another lightly rests on his thigh, steadying him as he practices his strokes. He plays this game of distraction along with me, launching himself into the water. Thinking how he will take the idea of leaving, I am caught off-guard when he suddenly appears and grabs me, pulling me into his arms. He is kissing me now, a furious kiss at odds with the calm, measured Peeta I have known so far. I sink into it – isn't this what I had been thinking about also, before the need to act on his survival pushed all other desires out of my mind? I was lost in it, in him. I could imagine the arena going still as I wrapped my arms around his waist. Where was my thought? I had something important to say to him…

He runs a finger down my spinal column, bringing his hand to rest on my hip which causes me to gasp against his mouth. He is already rock hard under the water, his arousal pressing insistently against my belly. This would not do…not at all. Luckily for my slowly dissolving self-control, he pulls back to look at me. "You really want to teach me how to swim?" he whispers. I look up at him, the bright cornflower blue of his eyes rendering the sky just behind his head the flat color of puddle water in its contrast. Those eyes confound me and I am only able to shake my head in response. I pull his head towards my neck, partly to hide my lips from the other victors on the beach, partly to feel him just a bit closer to me. While taking in the smell of sweat and sea salt on his skin, I whisper, "There're only eight of us left. We should take off."

Peeta nods, the drag of his curls on my cheek threatening to scatter my thoughts to the four winds again as I desperately try to hold onto what I am saying. Turning his lips into my ear, nuzzling the soft lobe there, he whispers again "Fine but let's wait till Brutus and Enobaria are dead. Beetee is planning something. Then we'll go."

My chest clenches up. My instinct tells me to run away and not look back but I don't want to fight off more than one group of victors. There was also still Chaff to consider.

"Okay." I tell him. I'm not capable of much more as his hot breath against my shoulder sends me into a crisis. He stops and turns into me again. "Are you sorry?" he asks nervously.

"About what?" I ask, though I know what he is referring to. He pulls back to look me squarely in the eye.

"About last night?" he asks, so vulnerable my stomach begins to cramp.

_No, not fear. Don't be afraid of me_. "Never." I say ardently. "I'll never, ever regret it."

"And the cameras? The audience?" he asks again. It would be like him to consider all of the consequences. He is not rash and impulsive like I am.

"What about them? I hate the idea of it also but I don't know how much longer either of us will be here." _How much longer I will be here_, I self-corrected. I stiffened at a thought. "Maybe you're sorry?" I hesitate.

"Uh, yeah, okay, how about no? I only care if you do. I already regret not going right out in the rain that day I tossed the bread. I regret not having the courage to speak to you all of these years." I put my hand up to his cheek and shush him. I didn't want him to relive any pain, not because of me. "I don't appreciate the audience but I don't regret it at all. Unless it was just a moment. Unless you didn't mean it…" he let the thought trail away.

I was not one for flowery words and endearments. I love my sister above all other things in my life but I could count on one hand the times I told her I loved her. But these were extraordinary circumstances – I'd have to fit a lifetime of affirmations in such a short time. And he needed to hear it. I suppose everyone needs to hear it. I was always so sure of him but I know for a fact he could not say the same about me. And while I revile the audience, I need them, if only as sponsors and this conversation must seem strange to them anyway. Aren't we married with child?

I can't go resolving all of that now. Instead, I put my hands on each side of his head. "I meant every single last bit of it. I'm not good at saying something, you know that. But I love you. I do. Don't ask me when or where because I can't point to when it happened. You just managed to get inside and root yourself there and I'll never pull you out again." _Which is why you have to live because my life is over either way. _

Peeta's eyes went indigo with intensity. "The odds just aren't in our favor, after all." He said with uncharacteristic fatalism.

I balked at this. "Don't go saying that, Peeta. Stranger things have happened here."

**XXXXX**

After our discussion, I figure out that rubbing sand along our skin will remove the scabs. I call Finnick over and we scrub the dry patches off, rubbing cream over the new skin. "Now you look pretty again." I tease, laughing at our resident demi-god in patchwork skin covered in green goo. He shakes his hair out like a wet puppy, splashing me with the drops that fly out while Peeta chuckles at our silliness. Beetee is already finalizing his plan to kill Brutus and Enobaria when Finnick wakes Johanna from her nap, foul-tempered as always, to join in the explanation of the wire and the lightning bolt. I have no idea how electricity works so I have to accept Beetee's plan of electrifying the beach using a bolt of lightning conducted from the lightning tree along his magic wire to the water. It will eliminate the seafood as our major food source, but if he is successful, the field of victors will be narrowed, and I'll be able to escape with Peeta and keep him safe until he is crowned Victor of the Quarter Quell.

At about 9 in the morning, we trudge our way up to the lightning tree. I stay close to Peeta, who grips his long knife with white knuckles, as I scan the jungle obsessively for Careers, my arrow at the ready. I am bringing up the rear until we are at the tree and very close to the force field. Apparently, I have managed to convince everyone that I can hear the force field with my super, bionic ear. Everyone, that is, except for Beetee, who chooses not to call me on my complete distortion of the rules of science. "Force fields are nothing to play with," is all Beetee says and I silently agree, having seen the terrible consequences first-hand. After testing the distance from the tree to the field with a tree nut, I draw a line to indicate the safest distance from the field.

As Beetee works on his plan at the tree, I drag Peeta with me into the jungle to hunt. Normally, his heavy tread would ruin my chances of catching anything but the tree rats are so unaccustomed to humans that they do not attempt to escape even with the noise that Peeta makes with his large, plodding steps. He gathers nuts a short distance away and I manage a respectable haul despite my paranoia – I am constantly jumping at each sound in the area, awaiting an ambush. I imagine the different ways my plan to save Peeta can fail and become increasingly agitated until I abruptly stop to take a deep breath of the thick jungle air. I'm no use to anyone if I continue in this way. I want to get into my hunting zone and stay there but his footsteps remind me of my objective. I finally can't take anymore and lead him quietly back to the beach where the company of Finnick and even Johanna soothe my nerves somewhat.

Once I've cleaned and skewered the meat, we eat in silence, watching with some humor as Beetee comments incomprehensibly on aspects of his plan. I am glad he is making sense to himself because what he mutters is sheer confusion for the rest of us. The clicking of the 11 o'clock section of the arena serves as a signal that we should return to the beach, as none of us are truly interested in knowing what the source of that sound might be. We walk back and wait for midday. As the hour nears, I climb a tall tree to watch the explosive display of unnatural blue light as lightning strikes the tree, an incandescent flame that lights up the sky despite the brightness of the day.

After reporting my sightings, we return to the ten o'clock beach. There is nothing more to do so we are given the afternoon off as Beetee continues to work on his trap. I'm momentarily disoriented. The water is inviting but I sway on my feet, the heat dragging me into a mindless lethargy. Despite this, I turn to Finnick and offer to take the first watch with Peeta. Johanna crosses her arms and looks hard at me. "What, don't want to do watch duty with me?" she sneers.

"You mean if I have the choice of spending possibly three of the last hours of my life with either a bad-tempered psychopathic bitch or with my husband and father of my child, could there possibly be any question about my choice?" I spit back at her. "Plus, he kisses better than you."

Both Peeta and Johanna flush beet red while Finnick lets out a whoop of laughter. "Well played, Katniss. I've got nothing for that. Let's go, Jo. We're off to take a nap." She gives him a meaningful look but he simply shakes his head almost imperceptibly at her, which causes all of the hairs on my back to stand on end though for which reason, I cannot immediately determine. This is another confirmation that there might be some kind of understanding between them, which makes me even more determined to keep Peeta close to me. I glance over at Peeta's face but he is unreadable at this point, only watching Finnick and Johanna as they walk to the mats to lie down and rest.

Peeta and I pace the beach uneasily for several minutes, both of us lost in our respective thoughts. After several rotations walking in this way, we finally sit down shoulder to shoulder, me facing the jungle while Peeta faces the water. I cannot contain my thinking any longer and turn my head to whisper into Peeta's ear.

"Did you see the look Johanna gave Finnick when I insisted on taking the watch with you?"

Peeta nods, scanning the edges of the beach. "I'm not sure if sticking around was such a good idea after all."

I simply nod at this. This hardly seems to be the moment to say _I told you so_. "Do you get the feeling they are trying to separate us?"

Peeta sighs, revealing his uncertainty. "I don't know, Katniss, nothing squares here. Why would they risk their lives to protect us and then try to separate us – for what? What's the end game? They've had multiple opportunities to kill us. It doesn't make sense." He looks up at the sky, as if the fluffy white clouds could give him the answer.

"Maybe they only intend for the alliance to go so far, at least until we've outlived our usefulness. Maybe they need us to make Beetee's plan work and then, when the beach is fried…"

"So are we," finishes Peeta.

I become morose at this. I can live without Johanna, to be honest. But I have an instinct about Finnick that is not consistent with this idea that he would make quick work of us when he gets the chance. Despite my initial impression of him as shallow, vain and conceited, something in me cannot reject him. Of all the people I've met during this dismal adventure, he is one of the few I could have called a friend in a better life. There is something infinitely good in him and, like Peeta, these are the most dangerous people for me, for once they dig themselves into my heart, it is difficult for me to remain indifferent to them.

Peeta suddenly turns to me and grasps me just below the shoulders. "Katniss, listen to me. I'm starting to think that sticking around was more than just a bad idea but we are in it now and leaving could bring the whole lot of them down onto our backs. We have to stick together, no matter what." There is a ferocity in his look that borders on desperation. "I'm not watching them take you from me, no matter what the circumstances. Do you understand?"

"Okay." I say, his intensity making me quail. Peeta is an incredibly perceptive person. If he is having the same doubts as me, there is no question that there is a basis for them. This confirmation of my suspicions fills me with terror. Up until that moment, I was unconsciously lulled into thinking that we were safe with them, that we could be less watchful when we were in the company of our allies. I can't have that luxury anymore.

My fear must be written all over my face because Peeta pulls me towards him in a powerful embrace. "Don't be afraid. I think we will know when we have to act. They still need us for whatever Beetee is up to, of that I'm almost certain. Until then, we need to relax, try to shore up our strength." I want to pull back, to protest that I am most certainly not afraid, thank you very much, but I have no desire to be the super woman with him. I _am_ scared – scared out of my mind - and being able to admit that without somehow being diminished is one of the most addictive things about being with Peeta. I know he won't hold any of it against me.

He sits with his legs in that way we did when we were in elementary school – "criss-cross-applesauce" – while I move to straddle him, holding him tightly against me. I have a full view of the jungle anyway and he is able to watch the beachfront so we simply hold onto each other in this way for the duration of our watch.

**XXXXX**

After Johanna and Finnick have taken their fill of sleep, I take Peeta's hand and move towards one of the woven mats. As we walk, I glance over at Finnick, who is looking at me again with an expression as if he is trying to solve a riddle. I tilt my head towards him in acknowledgement, which he returns with a small chuckle and a shake of his head, looking down again at his compulsive weaving. My erstwhile antagonist and savior, it is I who cannot solve the riddle of his behavior in this arena. I come to the terrible conclusion that he, too, will have to die and a roaring grief threatens to choke me so I strangle the thought and grip Peeta's hand tighter instead.

Settling on the mat, Peeta wraps an arm around me and puts his chin on my head, pulling me against him. I think again about last night and realize Peeta probably hasn't slept since so I push him gently down and look at him for a moment, trying to memorize the details of his face. He hadn't added my picture to the locket but he probably should have because when I am done here, he will have to take it away with him instead. He endures my scrutiny for a bit, his thumb running the length of the veins on my small hand. When he's had enough, he pulls me down and gives me a kiss so gentle, it has the effect of melting all the spaces between my joints together. The fire that started in my belly at the beach flares up again as if it had never been spent and we deepen our kiss, our tongues reaching out towards each other. I'm aching everywhere now, inside and outside and I want so much to give myself over to it, to burn with him.

I can't suppress the moan that escapes me as he pushes me onto my back and runs his hands along the length of me, my flimsy beach wear offering no protection against the intensity of his skin against mine. I glance past Peeta's shoulder and see Johanna snickering some 20 feet away but Finnick puts a hand on her and shakes his head, turning his back to us as they both face the water. I turn my attention back to Peeta. It is perfect, the way we fit into each other; my hip seems made to be held in his hand, his knee resting snugly between my legs. It is this perfection that renders everything so painfully absurd, I become breathless with the injustice of it all. I run my hands up his back and pull him down towards me until I've lost the boundary between us. We kiss this way for a long while until we reach the limit of our restraint and pull back, panting and unsatisfied. We look at each other with everything and nothing to say.

"Sleep." I whisper finally as I reposition myself, my head on his chest. He makes to protest but I still his lips with my finger. His exhaustion finally overtakes him and soon his even breathing and strong heartbeat sooth me to sleep.

**XXXXX**

When I next open my eyes, it is late afternoon. Peeta is still lost in sleep and I lay on him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under my cheek for several minutes until I begin to feel restless. Careful not to wake him, I get up and walk over to where Johanna and Finnick are on the beach. Johanna looks at me with a bemused expression, barely containing her mirth. I become instantly annoyed at her and spit out "Go ahead, just get it over with." This causes her to fairly cackle but instead of saying something crude and annoying, she just busies herself over a net. It is Finnick who speaks instead.

"Seafood won't be an option in a few hours. We should make the most of it. I'll catch fish with the net while Johanna takes the guard. You want to dive for oysters?"

After the conversation I've just had with Peeta, I balk at going under the water but Johanna's position on the beach is closer to ours than to his. I consider also that if they are, indeed, preparing to turn on us, it will likely be after Brutus and Enobaria are eliminated. I am almost positive they do not wish to have to fight us in addition to them also. "Sure." I am actually looking forward to getting into the water and diving down to the bottom. The water shimmers like a curtain of light. Schools of fish dart around me as I use a small knife to pry the shiny, black creatures from the sides of rocks and coral. It is another universe down here, so quiet and peaceful, it is as if the Games are just a persistent bad dream that manifests itself when I break the surface for air, and disappears when I dive to the bottom again. I would have probably had a bigger haul of the slimy things but for my insistence on checking on Johanna and Peeta every other minute. Despite the incredible beauty of the water, I cannot forget the promise of treachery above the surface.

When I have caught all that I could, I resurface to see Peeta has awoken and taken the guard together with Johanna. He is watching me intently, has been for who knows how long. I know that watchful look, the one that tries to take in everything at once, the restless search for danger. I know it well and see that he, too is obsessed with protecting me. I offer a silent apology, for I would never deny him anything but I have to deny him this. _You're going home, whether you like it or not_.

As I walk onto the beach, Peeta meets me to help me carry the rest of the oysters closer to the tree line. Finnick has already gathered bowls of water from the trees to clean our haul.

"You were gone." He says as I settle down to clean the oysters. It almost comes out as an accusation and considering our discussion, I would have probably felt the same way as him. However, Finnick is right next to us so he is not able to reprimand me in the way I know he wants to.

"You were tired and needed your sleep. I didn't want to bother you." I say as I busy myself with the shells.

"I sleep better when you're with me." He says matter-of-factly, though I caught the subtext beneath. I shouldn't have left him. Finnick cleans with a focus incongruous with the work he is engaged in.

I smile at this, attempting to disarm him. "Me too. I only ever slept right when I let you in my room during the Victory Tour and no one could tell us not to sleep together." At this point, Finnick is clearly uncomfortable and scoots over to create more space for us.

"It's what I miss the most." I say sadly.

"Yeah." Is all Peeta says before concentrating on his batch of oysters. Finnick visibly relaxes, now that our intimate conversation has ended. We work quietly until Peeta gives a surprised laugh. _"Take a look at this!"_ He holds up an iridescent, pea-sized grey pearl. He turns to Finnick. _"Do you know that if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls?"_

"No it doesn't." he says with some irritation. I simply laugh as I remember Effie introducing us to the Capitol with this completely clueless statement. And yet, out of our impoverished place in District 12, more than just a double victory grew up there. I look at Peeta with the most intense longing I've ever felt. I suddenly feel shy again as he hands the pearl over to me. "Here. For you."

"Peeta…" I begin as I hold the pearl between my thumb and forefinger, the light glancing off of its surface; a tiny, grey sun in my hand. If I had not been resolved until now to keep him alive, that resolve had turned to steel with this little gift, this last gift that he would give me. I close my hand around it in a fist and when I look back up into Peeta's eyes, I can see my own determination reflected in his.

"Thank you." I say in a cool voice that is not my own.

His smile fades from his face and he suddenly becomes very serious. _"The locket didn't work, did it?"_ I sense the way Finnick tenses at the changing tone of our conversation and I am shocked by Peeta's indiscretion but Peeta does not even register Finnick's presence any longer and now it is just the two of us again. _"Katniss?"_

I simply look him in the eye, before answering, "_It did_."

_"But not in the way I wanted it to." _He averts his eyes. A look of pure misery overtakes his features and he concentrates on his oysters, refusing to look at me again. He has suddenly become my greatest adversary, the one who, out of everyone here, would defy my purposes the most, actively work to make my plans fail. I continue to work until all the seafood has been cleaned.

A parachute floats to the sand, containing 24 more rolls and a tub of red, spicy sauce. Beetee finally joins us as we eat our fill, almost to bursting. Peeta has let go some of his despondency and sits beside me, making sure that I have as much as I can eat. It is an amazing meal – one of the best in my life. Even the oysters are made more tolerable by the red sauce and I seize the impulse to feed pieces of fish and bread to Peeta, laughing as the sauce dribbles down his chin. Johanna snorts indignantly at our show of affection but I shoot daggers at her with my eyes, holding her gaze as I slowly lick the sauce from his chin, just to enrage her further. Finnick laughs at the game between us and throws a piece of bread at Johanna, hitting her squarely on the cheek. This brings on a round of flying shells as we pelt each other with the discards of our meal. Beetee catches a juicy bit of oyster on his glasses which earns us a stern shake of his head, as he is forced to take them off and wipe them clean. "Kids" he mutters as he removes himself from the trajectory of flying shells and fish bones.

When everything is cleaned up, we have no choice but to wait. Peeta and I lean against each other on the beach, watching as the sunset bleeds oranges, pinks and yellows into the sky. We've made our case for mutual sacrifice and tried our hand at every sort of persuasion, whether it is to persuade the other to live or to persuade the other of their devotion. The time for words and desperate acts is over. I consider the possibility that this is the last sunset we will watch together and force myself to concentrate on every color, every thread that races across the sky. I try to control it but perhaps it is the lethargy of our large meal, the intractable beauty of oncoming night, Peeta's now beloved heat seeping into my skin – all of these things together conspire to force hot tears out of my eyes. I angle my face down so that Peeta cannot see me – I don't want to burden him further. The drops fall into the sand, making the smooth powder coalesce into rugged little pebbles, the moisture drawing the grains into itself. I feel his arm gently snake around my shoulders. He says nothing to me but the pebbles around our knees begin to multiply as I realize that I am not the only one pouring grief onto the sandy beach of the arena.

**XXXXX**

**Definitely tell me what you think. I've heard some great feedback on what should happen here. Your reviews really help my writing.**

**The italics are direct quotes from the book Catching Fire, by Suzanne Collins.**

**Pop on over to titania522 at tumblr to say hello and check out some great fanfics from other wonderful writers as well as GIFs, fanart and general sense and nonsense. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, all! I intended to update Good Again before updating Persuasion but this chapter, once decided, would not get out of my head. I will be updating Good Again next.**

**Thank you so much for your generous reviews! I got a lot of feedback about what should happen at the lightning tree and, after a bit of waffling I have finally settled on this version. The heavy editing was bravely undertaken by SolasVioletta who can polish the roughest stone. I also send a giant kiss to my beta, TiffOdair, who refuses to let me slack on my writing.**

**Don't forget to head over to MADAM BETH's story fanfic The Red X on the Door to vote on the scene that should be illustrated. The list of scenes is on her tumblr page, penname madambeth.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: The Wedding by MockingJayFlyingFree. An AU story that considers what would have happened if Katniss and Peeta were forced to marry after the Victory Tour. She follows it up with the sequel The Other Mockingjay which is an alternative ending to Catching Fire and Mockingjay. Great reads!**

**Italics are direct quotes from ****_Catching Fire_**** by Suzanne Collins. None of the characters belong to me.**

**Chapter 3**

At what Finnick and I judge to be about nine o'clock according to the moon, we begin our march up to the lightning tree from the 12 o'clock beach. The moon is bright and I again bring up the rear with Peeta just ahead of me. Our pace is made slower by our overstuffed bellies and I even feel nauseous as I try to hike briskly with what feels like ten pounds of oysters in my stomach. When we arrive, Finnick is already there busy attaching the wire to a branch and passing the spool back and forth to Beetee as they wind it around the tree trunk. The patterns of wire on the tree trunk form a beautiful, intricate pattern and I am momentarily taken aback at just how little I know about so many things. Education in the districts is strictly controlled and relates only to what is needed to be able to work in whatever specialty for which the district is known. Therefore I am completely at a loss to understand Beetee's plan with any depth. Is the pattern intentional or not? At that moment, the woosh of the ten o'clock wave reaches us at the lightning tree, its deadly waters drenching the sand along the beach.

When the sky says ten-thirty, Beetee explains the rest of his plan to us. Johanna and I are tasked with unspooling the wire through the jungle down to the twelve o'clock beach where we will drop what is left in the water. We are then to escape as quickly as possible into the jungle to avoid being electrocuted. His words are barely out of his mouth when Peeta interjects. "I'm going with them to guard." I see Beetee shake his head at this and I feel myself becoming rigid with tension.

_"__You're too slow. Besides, I'll need you on this end. Katniss will guard," says Beetee. "There's no time to debate this. I'm sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive, they need to move now." He hands the coil to Johanna._

"No!" I exclaim at once. "Let Finnick go with Johanna. I'm not leaving Peeta."

Johanna's face contorts into a sneer. "What the hell is wrong with you? You'll get a chance to be all up in each other's pants again as soon as we drop the spool in the water."

I clench my arrow, ready to snap back the arrow that is always in place when Peeta steps in front of me, his knife at the ready. This has the effect of pumping the air with a palpable tension. "We stay together. Or we both leave. Your call."

Finnick puts both of his hands up to pacify Peeta. "No need for all of that, Peeta. We just want things to work. Katniss and Johanna are the fastest runners." Peeta is unmoved by this. "Trust us. We're allies…"

"Yeah, but she's carrying my baby. We stay together. No discussion."

Finnick seems ready to say something but thinks better of it, looking between us with utter confusion while Johanna lets out a string of expletives so colorful, I blush at her vulgarity. I'm tempted to just go with Johanna to ensure the trap is laid out in time. After all, it is in my best interest to get rid of as many opponents as possible. However, the mild-mannered baker's son is unrelenting. I don't think any of has ever seen him so intractable and it is this obstinacy that wins the day.

Beetee is clearly frustrated with the entire exchange and speaks with authority. "Fine. Just go already, Finnick. We'll take care of everything here. If you both don't leave now, you won't make it back in time."

With a shared look of intense irritation, Johanna and Finnick relent and are off, unspooling the wire as quickly as they can. They disappear into the jungle while Beetee turns away to tend to the tree. Peeta visibly relaxes and puts his knife down. With his free arm, he pulls me to him and buries his face in my neck. All of his words of warning in the water come rushing back to me and I shiver at how close I came to ignoring our pact to stay together.

"I told you. I'm not letting you go." He whispers into my hair. "Not ever."

I nod my head, his breath on my ear sending goose bumps over the surface of my skin despite the heavy air of danger surrounding us. I pull back to look at him. "Peeta…" I begin but the words get lost against his mouth. His fervid kiss is filled with so much need, I forget where I am and instead lean into him, savoring the feel of his heat against my skin. I've never wanted to be somewhere else so badly and the desire to lay next him in a soft, safe place, to not be plagued with a thousand discomforts and dangers makes a sob rise up in me that I suppress with his lips.

Beetee works vigorously to wrap the wire around the tree. Peeta releases me and turns to offer his assistance but Beetee instructs him to stand guard instead and hands the wire to me as he ties knots around a branch that lies on the ground. He works quietly, the complete opposite of the normally talkative, almost professorial air that he has taken with us in the past. Peeta is alert, the sounds of the jungle eerily suppressed as if they, too, were in expectation of Beetee's plan. Before long, there is nothing to do but wait for the return of Finnick and Johanna.

Just as Beetee is winding down his own preparations, the wire that extends into the jungle suddenly goes slack. Beetee swears as he touches the now limp wire, testing it for any sign of tautness but his efforts are futile. He pulls at the cut wire, the end of it soon appearing in his hand.

"Someone cut the wire very close by." He says in a hushed voice, staring at it as if it would talk to him and tell him its secrets. I ready my bow and arrow and ask, even though I know the answer. "What does it mean?"

Beetee looks up from his meditation and says only "Ambush."

Peeta is by my side in a moment. "The Careers?" he whispers.

Beetee nods. "Most likely." He begins muttering to himself, searching through his few things. "I have to think of something else." At this, Peeta turns to me. "Finnick and Johanna…?"

"We can't think of them right now." I hiss ferociously, though my heart sinks at the same time. There is no way to help them. I have only one person I am to keep safe. Everyone else will have to fend for themselves.

After several minutes of strained silence, I suddenly hear the hushed sound of dried forest debris crunching underfoot. A less refined ear would not have heard the slight shifting of the dried leaves, the deep breathing. But I am a hunter before all things and my well-trained senses are on alert. Peeta instinctively crouches, holding his long knife before him in readiness. I slowly back my way towards him, looking over my shoulder as I jerk my head slightly in the direction of the sound. My heart is threatening to burst out of my chest and I make a valiant effort to force myself to breathe deeply. Before he can acknowledge the direction of my head, a body hurtles out of the brush in the opposite direction and tackles Peeta to the ground, taking him down.

"Peeta!" I scream, aiming an arrow at the wrestling bodies on the ground. I release it into Brutus' back as another figure bursts at heart stopping speed from the trees to my right. I load another arrow as I swing around and let it fly without a thought. So quick is the swish of the feather against my cheek that the tip is buried in Enobaria's throat before I hear the sound of it penetrating the skin of her neck. The vision of her blood spurting out of her artery sickens me but she is relentless, the arrow doing little to stop her body from continuing it's trajectory towards me. Soon, the weight of her petite yet remarkably heavy body crashes onto me and I am plummeting, the back of my head hitting the ground so hard, the pain lances all the way to my forehead.

In the eerie light of the moon, I realize her struggles are no longer with me, but with her own convulsions as her blood gushes all over me, soaking my hair and my face. The taste of her blood in my mouth threatens to bring up vomit but a sickening crack near me brings me back to the moment as I push her now limp body off of me. My head is pounding and a dark fog is encroaching on the edge of my vision. The sound of the cannon penetrates my pain-addled brain and I know that her struggle is over.

Shaking as I push myself upright, I see Brutus wobble towards me, my arrow protruding out of his back and Peeta's knife buried deep in his chest. His face goes gray as he falls to his knees, eyes locking on me. I am unable to tear my eyes away from the fading light in his. Suddenly, he collapses backwards and the cannon announces that his turn in these games also has ended.

Frantically, I look around me. "Peeta?" I call to him as I scramble to my feet, searching the murky darkness for him. _Where is he?!_ Desperately wiping Enobaria's blood from my face, I go into the bush around the trees in the direction of the lightning tree, not three feet from us. That is when I see Beetee on the ground, twitching though unconscious. An image of Peeta lying on the ground and singed by the force field comes to mind, which brings him back to the center of my attention. My heart is pounding in my chest as the hysteria begins to rise within me. "Peeta!" I scream. He must be alive! The cannon has been silent so far. "Peeta!"

I search the area of his struggle with Brutus and that is when I see his boot between the trees. I race over and my entire body freezes in horror. He is lying within view of Beetee and anyone observing him would have thought he was resting quietly in the bushes. Kneeling next to him, I see nothing amiss - no blood or wounds - which instantly fills me with relief. However, it is short-lived as I look up to his luminous face and see the bleeding contusion on the side of his head. Not a foot away is a large, bloodied rock, triggering a terrible panic in me. I shake him gently and whisper his name. "Peeta?" It is not a question, but a supplication. "Peeta?" I shake him more roughly but he remains inert.

I put my shaky hands on the pulse of his throat and feel the strong rhythm that has lulled me to sleep through so many nightmares. I open one of his eyes and that is when terror truly takes over me. His eye is completely dilated, the dark pupil has taken over the clear blue irises of his eyes. _This could also be the consequence of the darkness, despite the bright moon_ I think hopefully. I begin to tremble as I open the other eye and find that this one indeed responds to the light but irregularly and weakly. The side of his head in the meantime is swelling to an unnatural size, blood oozing from a gash I am only just noticing.

I am transported back to my small kitchen in the Seam. My mother – before she became a wraith – treating an injured miner. A giant boulder had fallen on his head. Underestimating his wounds, he went straight home instead of seeking treatment (no one could afford the luxury of a visit even to the healer unless the circumstances were truly dire). Soon he complained of a terrible headache. He lost his equilibrium, his ability to see and shortly thereafter, to speak. When he was finally brought to my mother, his two young sons were forced to carry him for he was no longer conscious. My mother made incisions around his head wounds but there was nothing she could do any longer. Too much time had passed. In just a few hours, the family was making arrangements to bury the man.

This is not just a concussion. Peeta has a serious head wound and he will die if he is not cared for right away.

The realization of his impending death breaks something strong and solid in me; I become a wild, unfettered creature. I'm mad and crying before I realize it and hysteria bubbles up, crowding out all logical thinking. "Peeta." I moan, my tears mingling with Enobaria's blood, creating a slimy concoction that rolls over my face. "Don't die, Peeta. Don't die." I'm shaking him again but I know he won't ever respond, no matter how much I jostle and move him. "You promised… You wouldn't leave me!" I wail, bringing myself down to lie next to him, my ear on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. I'm keening now against his ribs, smearing his firm blond skin with tears and blood.

All feeling in me drops off into an abyss. I stop caring. Let Finnick or Johanna find me. I'm done with these Games. I thought if Peeta died, I would not be able to live the rest of my life knowing that he never got out and I was right. I wouldn't live with it the rest of my life because I wasn't leaving here either.

The will to survive drains out of me. The parade of faces I will no longer see begins and ends with Peeta's but I also feel my heart crack further when I envision Prim, Gale and my mother for the first time since I set them free. I feel a limp immobility overtake me and let it root me to this spot. Brain swelling that went untreated led to coma and death and I would not have the time to take out Johanna and Finnick before Peeta's brain became saturated and it drowned in his own blood. I sobbed into his chest. "Please, please, please! Wait for me." I was inconsolable and by sheer accident, I let my eyes fall where Beetee lays, splayed against the ground.

The cannon hasn't fired yet. He's still alive.

I don't know why this revives me but I bring myself to sit upright despite the pounding of my own head and crawl over to him. His twitching has slowed down and he is mumbling in his confusion. I bring my ear down to listen to his words.

"You w-were right…" Beetee forces through his chattering teeth. "W-weak-s-spot…" he stutters. "F-force f-field…blow up-p the a-re-rena…"

My grief recedes and a primitive force takes over me, the wheels of my mind begin to turn, fueled by brutal survival instinct as I recall what he had been trying to do before the wire snapped. I pick up the wire that is tied to the tree and observe that it is wound about his knife like yarn on a skein. What on earth was he doing? _Think!_ I look up at the force field and back down at the knife, recalling the cracking sound I heard before. A realization dawns on me like a rush of hope, scattering my terror for Peeta. Beetee was up to something and I don't know what it is but it was more than just electrifying the beach. He had tried to stab the force field; that was why he was semi-conscious. But why? _Why?_

_Blow up the arena…_

My brain scrambles for a logical explanation but there is none to be had. However, a plan takes root in my mind. I don't have all the clues but if there is one person I trust here besides Peeta, it is Beetee. My ruminations are interrupted by my name desperately being called from below the tree line. "Katniss! Katniss!" My heart gives a momentary lurch as my name is uttered in an unmistakable male voice and for a joyous moment, I think it's Peeta's. However, my mind delivers the umpteenth disappointment and I deflate when I recognize the voice as that of Finnick instead. I hear scrambling in the tree line below and know that both Finnick and Johanna will soon be here. But why make all that ruckus? They don't know for whom the cannons were fired. I shake my head and turn my attention to the force field. I'm running out of time.

I get up from my spot and run to fetch the bow and arrows I dropped near Peeta. Looking at him, I kneel to touch his cheek. I'm standing at the edge of a deep ravine where all my grief awaits me and force myself to back away from it. I can't imagine what Beetee was expecting to find on the other side but if there was even a tiny chance that whatever it was could save Peeta, I was not going to let the chance escape. I tear myself away from him reluctantly, racing back to the where I dropped the knife near the tree.

Adrenaline courses through me as I struggle to unwind the wire from the knife, the sound of approaching footsteps accelerating towards me. I've wrapped the wire around my arrow and positioned it in my bow, pointing to the shimmering square in the force field that only I can see when the top of Finnick's bronze head appears above the slope. Johanna is two steps ahead of him, her eyes wide with shock as she takes in my position - on my feet, legs spread out, an arrow poised in the air, no longer caring if I am creating the most perfect target for her ax. Finnick grabs her arm and pulls her back to him.

"Do it, Katniss!" he shouts as he crouches over Johanna and I have my certainty. Haymitch's voice reverberates through my already teeming head.

_When you are in the arena, just remember who the real enemy is._

_Why would I need reminding? I have always known who the enemy is. Who starves and tortures and kills us in the arena. Who will soon kill everyone I love._ Who has already killed the one that I love?

I take one last glance at Peeta's limp body, trying to take courage that whatever it is I am doing will be better than doing nothing at all and if it ends in tragedy, so be it. It can't be worse than the tragedy I am living now. The square shimmers as the arrow pierces it, the wire flying along with it. I'm too close to the tree when I feel the electricity pass through my hair and into the surrounding air, the blast of lightning blowing Finnick, Johanna and me off of our feet as it explodes. My head, already pounding from my first impact with the ground, now throbs from being knocked again with renewed pain as my vision beginning to swim before me.

Meanwhile, the wire is alight with the energy of the lightning bolt. The dome of the force field sizzles and crackles with a blue light as bright as Peeta's eyes and I turn my dazed head towards him, now only a few inches from me. I want so much to close the space between us but I am paralyzed and my desire comes to nothing. My body is pinned to the ground by an invisible force but my eyes search his profile as a series of explosions rock my peripheral vision. I am riveted by the halo of light reflected on his clear skin and forget the burning arena as the light seems to set every strand of his golden hair on fire. I am no longer seeing earthly Peeta, the solid certainty of his mortal coil but Peeta as he has always been, as he really is - his incandescent soul perhaps rising out of his battle-worn body. In my delirium we have both become surreal. Maybe this is how he will lead me into eternity and I feel a moment of pure bliss that after everything, this is how it will all end.

**XXXXX**

**Your reviews mean the world to me! I look forward to hearing what you think! Chapter 4 is underway.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm so excited that I was able to get both of my fics updated. I'll be turning my attention to Prompts in Panem, which begins on September 9****th ****and runs for 7 days. The theme for the prompts is The Seven Deadly Sins. There is also a wealth of one-shots in the archives to keep you busy reading for a good long while. **

**So my HG Fanfic Rec is Prompts in Panem on tumblr at promptsinpanem.**

**I must give my usual thanks to SolasVioletta who suggested important plot points and did a deep revision of the text. I also thank TiffOdair for reading it over and giving it her seal of approval.**

**I'm grateful for your continued support and love your reviews. I respond to each one as soon as my crazy schedule allows. As soon as I break 200, I'll post an adorable one-shot I've been saving for a special occasion.**

**Chapter 4 - Revelations**

Turning my head back to the sky, I see fireworks and wonder at the Gamemaker's theatrical touch on our collective destruction. Peeta is bleeding his life out into the ground but the Capitol has gone and lit fireworks for our troubles. As the trees and vegetation burst into flames, I think of how unlikely it is that any of us was ever meant to survive. It would be Snow's prerogative to show his absolute power, _"…a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol…"_ Was this the plan all along or had I gone and done it again – blown up the arena and given them no choice but to destroy all of us? I utter a silent apology to Finnick, Johanna, and Beetee. Certainly, if I had simply stayed with Peeta, one of them would have finished me off and been crowned Victor. As it was, I had thrown all my cards out of the game and sentenced each and every one of us to death.

But why should I care? Peeta is dead. Let them all burn.

It's when I see the hovercraft materialize above me that I think _– Of course, this is my life we're talking about here. I will not even be allowed to die as I choose_. The arrival of the Capitol ship fills me with the fury to escape. I look to Peeta. Why hadn't I just run myself through with an arrow when I had the chance? The birds I had released before entering the games come to flock around my conscience. There is no telling what would be done to me or my family. Now that Peeta is dead, I could personally endure everything – death or torture. I could be repackaged and reused. But the face of Prim dancing before my eyes and the terror that somehow she would be made to suffer because of me makes my body scream against the metal claw that now scoops me up and brings me higher and higher into the reverberating sky.

My suspicions are confirmed when I see Plutarch Heavensbee in the hangar of the hovercraft. I'm still immobile as the metal arm deposits me on a slab that extends out of the floor and suddenly becomes mobile. The arm is sent down the open hole of the hovercraft and I think in a moment of insane hope that maybe Peeta will be retrieved and saved. He surely won't be punished. Maybe he will be made into an Avox to serve future victims. Maybe after all of this, he will live. My heart races now, not out of fear, but irrational, childish hope before I remember that he, too, could be used to punish me.

Meanwhile, Heavensbee's pasty, pampered Capitol fingers are soft as they ghost over my brow. I feel the pinch in my left forearm and watch as the tracker is carefully removed by a tall, rugged woman with thick dark hair and impossibly textured brown, eyes. Her suit is like nothing I've ever seen in the Capitol before. It looks almost too plain – a solid grey jumpsuit whose color does nothing for her steamy, dramatic features. Another pinch in my arm and it is with the memory of dark chocolate and honey, of strong arms releasing me to sink into the comfort of this confection that I dissolve into unconsciousness.

XXXXX

I hover between sleep and wakefulness, my body foreign to me. I am laying on something soft and padded. Though my neck muscles feel thick, I turn my head to observe the room. White, everything so white it gleams. There are rows of beds facing each other in the stark brightness. And breathing. Heavy, mechanical breathing. I roll my head in the direction of the sound and see Beetee, attached to an army of machines, his battered body limp on a bed at the foot of mine. But where is everyone else?

My mind flies to Peeta and my body responds with trembling, unsure movement. I swing my legs off of the bed, feeling dizzy by the demand on my body. He might be dead already but I need to find him anyway. I need to finish what these Games have started. If he was dead, I was determined to put an end to myself and perhaps spare my family the pain of being used against me. But if he was alive, I was not going to let the Capitol hurt him anymore. I just need a weapon. I catch sight of a table near Beetee's bed filled with sealed syringes and snatch a few off of the table. Glancing at him, I shake my head. _Was this your magical plan? Did you think blowing up the arena was going to make things better?_ I mentally kick myself for being so naïve, so quick to cling to hope. I turn away from him, wanting to end his misery also but remembering there was only one person I was determined to protect. If I injected air into Beetee's veins and he died, those machines would go off and I would not make it out of the room.

I pad quietly down the frozen corridor, shivering with fear and cold, astounded at the lack of security. I must be in a hole so deep that escape is deemed impossible. I continue my silent creeping until I hear the muffled sounds of voices. Gliding quietly to an open metal door, I listen carefully to the voice inside.

"_Communications are down in Seven and Ten_. There are some reports coming out of Twelve that we are trying to confirm that don't sound good. _Eleven has control of transportation so there's at least a hope of them getting some food out._" It is Heavensbee's voice but I can't grasp who he is speaking to.

"We have reports of a mass refugee situation in Four. It's a huge district." A hoarse voice asks a question.

"No, I'm sorry; there are Capitol forces on the ground in Four. I can't get you in. I've given special orders for a search and recovery amongst the refugees. It's the best I can do, Finnick."

My heart sinks. Finnick. He seemed to understand Beetee's plan. Was he so beloved by the Capitol that they would overlook his crimes?

_Do it, Katniss!_

My aching head throbs further as he says something in a tone that speaks of bottomless grief.

_"__Don't be stupid. That's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure if she's captured. As long_ _as you're alive, they'll keep her alive for bait," says Haymitch._

Haymitch!

I burst through the door. My heart is somewhere in my throat as I take in the room – a table set with food, Haymitch at one end, a bedraggled Finnick seated next to a window. Johanna stares blankly out of another window where in the distance I see the tops of trees. We are flying.

Haymitch is about to speak but maybe it's the desperation in Finnick's face that I recognize as my own; maybe it's because seeing Haymitch brings back District 12 with the force like a slap in the face, maybe it is because I meant to solve one mystery only to discover a more confusing one in its place but I know I will not survive the sarcasm in his voice if I let him talk to me at that moment. I imagine the insane figure I cut – white, wrinkled gown, plastic syringe in hand, the expression of one who has become untethered from everything, even herself. There is an endless wail waiting in my chest that will escape and be heard across Panem and I know that I must take care not to release it.

"What the hell is going on here?" I'm impressed by the raspy harshness of my voice, though I feel like shattering into a million fragments inside. It is Johanna's voice that pierces my confusion.

"Oh, look, Princess Brainless is awake." She sneers before looking out the window, as if everything about me bores her.

My sudden irritation at her meaningless venom together with the shock of finding them all here in this incongruous situation overwhelms me. My body betrays me and I fall towards Haymitch. He gets on his feet and catches me, steadying me. "_Were you going to take on the Capitol with a syringe? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans_." Johanna gives a derisive chuckle. "Drop it, Katniss." I do as I'm told, my bravado bleeding out of me and I sink into a chair next to Finnick.

"Try to eat." Says Heavensbee gently, sliding a bowl of soup and a roll before me. I look at him as if Snow himself had offered me the meal. My stomach lurches with hunger but I am desperate to know what is happening. The tale that Haymitch weaves for me leeches all the appetite out of me and fills me up with rage instead.

The plan was to blow up the arena. All of the tributes from 3, 4, 6 ,7, 8 and 11 had some knowledge of the plot. Heavensbee, for years an undercover rebel, ensured that Beetee had the materials he needed to make the plot happen. The bread was a code for the rescue time. District three meant the day and the number of rolls was the hour. When the arena blew up, there would be air support from District 13, which indeed exists as we were in a hovercraft headed there. In the meantime, most of Panem was in full-scale rebellion.

"Even District 12?" I asked.

Heavensbee turns to me. "We are trying to confirm the reports about Twelve's status. Communications went down 24 hours ago and we haven't been able to get anyone in there."

I'm swooning now with the reality before me. I had not been consulted. All of these secrets under my nose kept by people I thought I trusted and now District 12 had gone silent. I feel a murderous hatred towards Haymitch. At least in the Games I knew I was being played. But he was my mentor. I had begged for Peeta's life…

"Why didn't you tell Peeta and me about the plan?" I hiss at him.

His face becomes stone. "When the arena blew up, you would be the first they'd go after."

"But why? That makes no sense…" I fumble with the truth again and almost drop it.

"We had to save you because you're the Mockingjay, Katniss." Says Plutarch. "While you live, the revolution lives."

_Revolution. The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress…_

The one who refused to die. Refused to play the game. And my supposed mentor, the lies he tells with a face full of liquor…

My heart begins to fragment. I hear his name in my head before I say it.

"Peeta…"

"The others kept him alive because we knew there would be no way to keep you in an alliance if he died." Haymitch's mask falters now. "We knew he would do everything to protect you."

_ "__I told you. I'm not letting you go." He whispers into my hair. "Not ever." _

I find breathing difficult and steel myself for my next question. "You never intended to save him, did you? You lied to me." I'm seething with every black feeling that has ever passed through my heart. The shared bottle of white liquor. The promise that this time, Peeta would survive. Haymitch's face takes on a grey pallor. I'm unarmed and weaker than I've ever been but no one should underestimate the strength of desperation and a set untrimmed nails. I am across the table and on his face before anyone can stop me, the blood and skin crammed under my nails. We hurl terrible insults at each other as I kick and scream like a rabid animal. I feel Finnick's arms lock around me while Johanna and Heavensbee pull Haymitch back down to the table.

"Where is he?" I scream. "What did you do to him!"

He finally drops his eyes as he wipes the blood from his face. Finally feels some shame. It's Heavensbee who answers.

"Katniss, he's in bad shape. We don't have the medical facilities like in the Capitol. His head wound was severe and it was almost too late…"

_He's here._

"I need to see him." I try to shake myself of Finnick's arms, feeling the wave of nausea and dizziness but trying not to sway under the power of it. Finnick, up until now watching in despondent silence, relaxes his grip and steadies me, keeping me from collapsing. Maybe these were hands I could trust.

"Katniss…" begins Haymitch.

I turn my eye on him in feral rage. "No. Don't. Don't speak to me. Ever. Again.

The grey shade of shame hardens to concrete and he turns away, taking out his flask and emptying it in one gulp. Johanna has since slipped out, the show apparently not intense enough to hold her interest anymore.

Heavensbee hesitates before describing Peeta's situation. The words tumble out of him and wash over me, unable as I am to truly grasp them, a reality my brains struggles against. _Erratic brain activity…draining the blood and fluid, trying to relieve the pressure in his skull…medically induced coma._ Words and words and words until Finnick's weary, sad voice penetrates through them.

"Don't stall, man. Let her see him. What more harm can be done?" he pleads.

"Perhaps she would like to wash up…" he watches my hands warily.

"He's in a coma, for fuck's sake, Plutarch! He's not going to notice!" Finnick responds impatiently.

Taken aback, Plutarch stiffly rises and leads the way out of the door and down the hall, further along than I had gone. Without being asked, Finnick walks quietly next to me and I am grateful because when we come upon a windowed observation room, I open the door, the sight that greets me provoking a powerful vertigo. Finnick's strong hands are the only thing keeping me from collapsing on the ground.

He is lying naked on the gurney covered only by a thin, hospital blanket. But he is barely recognizable to me. His head is completely bandaged in white, a narrow drainage tube emerging from the swathing. He is not breathing on his own; instead a machine pumps air into his lungs through an accordion shaped plastic tube fastened to his cheek, plunging down past his full lips and into his trachea. The tube pulls his open mouth into a half-grimace and I have to resist the urge to rip it out of his mouth, so uncomfortable it appears to me. His eyes are closed, his thick lashes resting against his pale skin and I focus on the way the fluorescent lights bleach them almost to transparency.

He seems so young. A boy. A hulking, muscular, oversized boy who lies so exposed on that hospital bed that all I want is to wrap myself around him and keep him safe from all the uncertainty – the doctors, District 13, this revolution. A tremor begins in my chest and races out to the tips of my fingers and toes. "I'm sorry." I whisper, like an incantation, over and over again. Reaching out to touch his hand, his skin shocks me with its iciness. I wrap both of my small hands around his large one and gently rub it, trying to transfer some of my warmth to his skin.

"He's so cold. Can't they cover him with something warmer?" I choke out miserably. As I say this, I feel rather than hear another person enter the room and it is she who answers me.

"The temperature is regulated to ensure that he retains his body heat." I turn to see the same chocolate-eyed woman. She stands next to me, holding a chart on a clear clipboard. "I'm Dr. Aguilar. I assure you he is as comfortable as he can be under the circumstances."

I scrutinize her for a moment. She stands a full head taller than me and erect, but not rigid. She is a voluptuous woman of about Haymitch's age, though her curves bespeak a fit and healthy body. Her stunning dark eyes are nestled in a luminous face, skin smooth as a child's. It is clear that it had not suffered the sun or elements as mine had. She's pretty enough to be one of those mindless women that appear on television but she gives off the air of brisk intelligence instead. If my heart were not bleeding in a thousand places, I might have liked her. As it is, I am overcome with anger and grief, and the need to discharge this onto someone.

"How do you know? Touch him. He's freezing!"

"He is in a medically induced coma. All of his body functions have been slowed to reduce the blood pressure to his brain. As such, his extremities will be of a lower temperature than his core. But if it makes you feel better," she walks over to a panel in the wall and presses it open, pulling out a textured blanket and laying it carefully over him. She turns back to me and I am disarmed by her compliance.

Here, Plutarch clears his throat and speaks up. "Dr. Aguilar is the head of District 13's trauma unit. She volunteered to join the mission to tend to any medical emergencies that might have arisen. I think you can be confident in her training." He puffs himself up as if he is somehow been responsible for her competence.

Ignoring his flattery, Dr. Aguilar looks down at her chart. "As soon as you are ready, I will be happy to debrief you on his status."

"I'm ready." I say with a steady voice that belies the terror that roils my stomach. I try to control the trembling in my legs but I am swooning again and Finnick reaches around to hold onto me. Dr. Aguilar pulls a folded metal object from the side of Peeta's bed and opens it, revealing a chair on wheels. "Please have a seat, Ms. Everdeen. Has she eaten yet?"

Plutarch shakes his head. "I offered her something but…" he trails off.

"Well." She says, looking sternly at him, then back at me. "Please be sure she has something to eat. I will be in the debriefing room in 15 minutes to examine her vitals again and then we can talk."

My head rolls on my shoulders as I protest weakly but she looks at me with her steady, warm gaze. "You came on board undernourished, dehydrated and with a concussion. You need to be taken care of. I promise I will tell you everything you want to know. No bullshit. Okay?"

My eyes become moist in response. The days in the arena, the horror of Peeta's possible death, the revelations of a secret revolution organized by someone who I thought had Peeta and my best interests at heart – all of these things were taking their toll. The adrenaline of the last hour was leaching out of me and I feel the most profound exhaustion that I had ever felt in my life overtake me.

I simply nod as Finnick pulls the chair towards him and wheels me back down to the room I'd found him in earlier. He sits down next to me and begins to pull the bowls of soup and bread close to us. After days of eating raw seafood and gamey rats, I should have been relieved to eat warm, cooked food but everything that passes my lips feels like sandpaper. The broth, the rolls, the slices of thick, creamy cheese – they make no impact on my deadened taste buds. As I push the spoon through my lips, I look over at Finnick. He is chewing quietly, tears streaking his worn face. He rocks just slightly in place, as he goes through the motions of eating. Something in his demeanor reminds me of Prim when she was small and would cry quietly when she was disappointed – no histrionics or wailing but the sad keening of a person who had given themselves over to a defeat.

I can't resist the shadow of my sister on him and reach across the metal chair, pulling him to me. I am not accustomed to having people close to me except for Peeta and Prim so it seems strange to feel him in my arms. My nose instinctively searches for Peeta's smell on him but instead of cinnamon and uncooked bread, I smell the sea. I let him grip me as he sobs into my neck and I am not ashamed for him. There is a sense that we are still allies even though we are no longer in the arena and I could not deny him or myself the comfort of this solidarity. I can't identify the source of his grief, whether it is for himself or for his family but that heart-breaking sadness is not unfamiliar to me and I give myself over to my own tears. We sit there for a long time until we both stop crying, not because our grief has somehow spent itself but because we are physically unable to produce any more tears.

We pull apart and eat quietly, leaving each other to our lonely thoughts.

**XXXXX**

Soon Dr. Aguilar returns, thankfully without Plutarch. She sits herself down at the table and turns the pages of her flipchart. Looking up from her paperwork, she shuts the chart and sets it aside.

"We will be in District 13 by 0-4-hundred. Until then, I fully expect the both of you to rest until then. I do not want to have to medicate you against your will but I will if I have to. Our priority is to deliver you in good health and this extends also to any Victors who were rescued from the arena." She paused, looking directly into my eyes. "I'll start with the medical diagnosis and clarify everything from there. Peeta's received a severe intra-cranial trauma caused by a blunt impact to the left hemisphere resulting in an epidural hematoma. This has also resulted in dangerously high intracranial pressure." She pauses as she absorbs my utter and complete confusion. "In another words, Peeta was hit on the left side of his head with a heavy object…"

"A rock." I interject.

"That's consistent. You see, the brain has three layers of membranes, each with a different function but essentially ensuring the optimal flow of brain fluids and blood while keeping the brain in place. Peeta came in with a hemorrhage between two of those membranes, resulting in increased pressure on his brain. This is why he is unconscious. However, this pressure interferes with basic functions and can be deadly when left untreated. I therefore attempted to relieve the intra-cranial pressure or ICP by putting him in a medically-induced coma, and performing an emergency intervention to introduce the drainage tube into his brain. I have also relieved his body of other automated functions such as breathing and blood flow to control the level of ICP on his brain."

"Is this why his pupils didn't dilate right?" I ask, remembering how strange his eyes looked when I found him.

"That is correct. This is actually a sign of very severe brain trauma." Dr. Aguilar pauses to allow the information to sink in. I'm seized by a terror that everything I had done will not have been enough to save him after all. The dark chasm of my grief wants to engulf me whole until only darkness lies between me and this new reality.

It is Finnick who speaks now. "What will happen to him now? Will he recover?"

Dr. Aguilar takes a deep breath. "The operating room is being prepped as we speak. He will have to go into surgery immediately upon our arrival in District 13. I do not have the facilities to perform anything beyond what I have done already. Once he has had preliminary and post-operative brain scans, I will be able to give you more information." She stops again, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "There is a wide continuum of outcomes that you should prepare for, anything from speech, vision or motor loss to changes in personality, persistent coma and" here she pauses before pushing through her words, "in some cases, even death." I blanch at the hated word, the entire bottom of my stomach falling out.

Dr. Aguilar reaches her hand out to take mine. "We got to him just before it was too late, Katniss. His brain is well oxygenated and the swelling is greatly reduced. There are some reasons to be optimistic. We have excellent physical therapists if he should be so impaired as to require it. We just have to wait and have faith that all will turn out well. While his situation appears dire, I've seen people emerge from worse injuries than this." She squeezed my hand. "I will be involved in the surgery and every step of his convalescence afterwards. Just trust that we will do everything in our power to bring him back to you."

The tears are already drenching my face and gown as I nod in acknowledgement, not trusting myself to say more.

She briskly examines Finnick and me and then leads us back to the ward. Beetee is still unconscious under the droning of his army of machines and Johanna is in another bed, snoring quietly. Dimming the lights further, she helps me into the bed and kindly situates Finnick next to mine. "I'm going to strongly recommend a sedative to help you both rest. I can't imagine you will get any sleep otherwise."

As Finnick sinks into unconsciousness, I am suddenly seized with an irrational panic that Peeta could disappear at any time if I am not vigilant. It is a panic as old as my father's death – when I learned at a young age how easy it was to lose everything.

"Please, may I sleep in Peeta's room?" I whisper.

Dr. Aguilar considers this for a moment, her head tilted a bit to the side. "That would not be consistent with medical protocol. However," she unlatches the wheels of the bed and motions for me to hold on. "These are extraordinary circumstances."

She pushes the gurney down the hall and sets it up near Peeta, as close as possible without interfering with the equipment around him. I'm close enough to reach across the gurneys and take his still frigid hand in mine. I stare at his profile for a long while, willing him to open his eyes and look at me but I know he won't. Taking a cue from Finnick, I allow Dr. Aguilar to inject me with the sedative. I'm grateful when the medication pushes me into unconsciousness. The last thought I have before sleep overtakes me is a fervent wish that Peeta will somehow find a way out of his own darkness and back to me.

**XXXXX**

**Don't forget to check out promptsinpanem on September 9****th****for The Seven Deadly Sins!**


	5. Chapter 5

**First of all, I have to thank those of you who voted for my fics during the Everlark Smut Awards. Good Again took first place for best Shower Smut and second place for Best Mockingjay Smut. Persuasion was nominated also, which was tremendously exciting me! **

**HG Fanfic Rec: famousfremus' Dandelion Wine which she has just recently updated. It is a growing together tale that has her signature writing style, a narrative that is immediate and powerful. Also, if you track down any of her Freaky Fic Friday one-shots, you will be in for a lusty treat. **

**Also on my rec list is When We Were Young by plumgal1899. I may have rec'd this fic already but it is on its 8****th**** chapter and it is going hot and strong. Love it!**

**I can't ever say enough about my brilliant beta, SolasVioletta, who takes the time to listen to all the drool that my brain produces and is just an exception beta and friend. She also suggested the title of this fic based on the song "Dust to Dust" by The Civil Wars. She suggested the band and the song and I love both!**

**I also want to give a shout out to TiffOdair pre-reading this chapter and reminding me regularly that it is really about time I get something posted.**

**Chapter 5 – Dust to Dust**

I emerge from the shadowy dream world of a heavily medicated sleep with no clear idea where I am. I expect to see the sallow-barked trees of the arena towering over me, hot gritty sand burning under my shoulders and thighs. Instead, I am in another stark, white room with dim light, a one-way observation window taking up the far wall. I'm no longer in the room I fell asleep in on the hovercraft. Remembering this, my mind works backwards through the latest events until it lands squarely in the arena again, every detail flooding my foggy brain. I struggle to straighten myself, looking around for his gurney but find myself alone. My heart slams painfully into my ribs and I gasp from the sudden panic.

"Peeta!" I'm trying to get into an upright position but my muscles feel like they've been injected with tracker-jacker venom. They tremble heavily and the effort to straighten up causes the room to spin around me. Between the sudden nausea and panic, I'm completely lost, grabbing the edge of the mattress to find purchase as the world tilts around me. This incapacitation frustrates me further and I bang on the bed, willing the room to stay straight when I swing my legs over the edge. A nurse rushes in, just catching me as I collapse to the floor.

"Please, Ms. Everdeen, you're going to hurt yourself. Let's just…" the woman heaves me up and I have no choice but to lean against her, my head a mad whirl. "…Let's just get you up here now, alright?" She helps me get back onto the bed. "The sedative combined with your concussion are going to keep you off your feet for a while."

Settling down onto the firm mattress, I take in the features of my nurse. She's a jowly woman of maybe 50 years with skin that reminds me of Rue. Her hair is a collection of those same tight, wiry curls but they are cropped close to her head. I reach my hand out to the lapel of her smock. "Please, my…" the words catch in my dry throat. "…my…frie-…fiance…" I gulp nervously. "Peeta Mellark. He was hurt. Is he close by?"

The nurse gently removes my hand, setting it down on the bed as she adjusts the sheet around me. "The doctor will be in shortly to speak to you. Just rest a little now."

The spinning in my head has slowed down now and I am able to focus on a point in space without it sliding out of my vision. "Please. I just want to know where he is. I won't rest if I don't know."

The nurse pauses as if considering things. She whispers quickly. "Mr. Mellark is in surgery right now. As soon as they got him off that Hovercraft, he was rushed right into the operating room. There is no other information at this time." She goes to pull away but I grab her sleeve.

"How long has it been since we got here?" I ask.

"Almost three hours. Now rest or I'll have to give you a sedative again and you see what that feels like."

I simply nod my head and put my forearm over my eyes. The room has the same quality of sterile chilliness as that of the hovercraft. It is the worst kind of déjà vu – a familiar place, the same desire to run the halls and discover whatever harsh truths lay behind those metal walls. But this time, I am incapacitated. I do not try to sit up again – the nausea was too strong for me the first time I tried. I think first and foremost about Peeta. Then I wonder where Finnick is and kick myself for not remembering to ask my nurse. My heart thuds because of all this, the panic and urgent need for nervous movement making me feel like I've swallowed a hummingbird.

As it is, I'm stranded on this gurney so I simply must lie there trying not to crawl out of my own skin, waiting for something to happen.

After an interminable amount of time the door swings open and the familiar face of Dr. Aguilar appears in a white coat, her dark features strained with exhaustion. She is followed by another man, who I assume is also a doctor. I make to sit up but Dr. Aguilar shakes her head and moves a button near my bed which causes the back of the bed to climb slowly until I am in sitting position.

"How is your head feeling?" she asks.

"I'm having trouble getting up." I say.

"That is the sedative. It will wear off shortly and you will be able to get up again. Katniss, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Aurelius, the local trauma specialist and head psychiatrist." She pauses and looks at me meaningfully. "We've just been released from the operating room."

I lurch upward, forgetting my head and feeling the world swim sickeningly before me. Dr. Aguilar puts a hand on my shoulder and I grasp it in an attempt to steady the world. "How is he?" I gasp through the vertigo.

"Peeta is in the intensive care unit now. It was a fairly routine hematoma removal and presented no further complications. He has a contusion area on the left side of his brain, consistent with my preliminary findings but scans have brought up no other signs of injury. He is no longer experiencing brain compression and internal pressure has returned to normal." She pauses as I absorb her medical gibberish. "In other words, his brain is bruised but he has no blood clots and his brain isn't bleeding. How's that?"

"It sounds like a good thing?" I venture.

Dr. Aguilar smiles. "_It is_ a good thing. He will remain unconscious until his brain is ready to take on the world again. For now, he is still in a medically induced coma for the next 48 hours while we keep him under observation."

After the unforgettable horror of seeing him on the ground, thinking him dead and then on the gurney, wrapped like a plastic doll, unrecognizable except for his strong hands - beautiful thick hands - my brain is having trouble accepting this truth. I feel tears drizzle down my cheeks as I repeat my question to the doctor like a dumb thing. "This is good, right? He might be okay?"

A look of infinite tenderness crosses Dr. Aguilar's face. "He has a very good chance of being okay. Keep in mind, we cannot anticipate the impairments he may have. So far, scans are showing normal activity and stimulus response but the mind is a complex thing. There is no way to anticipate how a brain injury will manifest itself. But we can usually work through most of these impairments with good therapy if the underlying brain area has not been damaged beyond repair."

I nod vigorously at this, wanting to believe her optimism, needing to believe it. Because right now, I'm in a place I don't know, in the hands of people I don't know, in a reality I can't wrap my mind around. I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand.

"In the meantime, Dr. Aurelius will be offering psychological support to you and the other victors."

I look at her warily. In District 12, we could barely afford to get our most banal physical wounds treated, never mind the luxury of a head doctor. Do they think I've gone beanie on them? I feel my face go blank as I try to contain my negative feelings. "What do I need a psychiatrist for?" I ask.

Dr. Aurelius clears his throat and speaks up. "It is very likely you and the other victors are suffering from post-traumatic stress, a condition that afflicts individuals who have endured great trauma. In the arena, you displayed several symptoms of this condition."

I stiffen at this. "You watched the Games?"

He nods. "The Hunger Games are required viewing for the residents of District 13 to remind us of the evils of the Capitol." I take a deep breath, seized by a sudden discomfort. I desperately want them to leave my room now. There was more than just PTSD that they had been privy too. "Many of your behaviors and that of the other victors are consistent with PTSD. But we don't have to worry about all of that right now." A sudden beeping sound goes off on Dr. Aguilar's belt, drawing both doctors' attention away from me. She becomes stone-faced as she reads the message on a communicator I had not noticed before.

"Dr. Aurelius, we're needed in the emergency center, stat. Katniss," an unreadable expression crosses her face, "We have to prepare to receive an influx of refugees. Please rest. As soon as your vitals check out, you will be assigned living quarters. The feeling of disorientation should be wearing off very shortly. I'll be back to check on you as soon as I can. No running in the corridors, okay?" she smiles but it is tight and I have a vague premonition that refuses to be defined.

"How about Finnick and Johanna?" I call out to them as they hasten towards the door.

"Finnick and Johanna are fine and resting in their rooms. The engineer, Beetee, is out of surgery and in the recovery center." I simply nod as they exit my room in a swish of starchy white frocks.

I struggle to calm myself again. Now that the intense fear for Peeta's well-being has been temporarily removed, I am able to focus on the myriad other details of my current situation that demand my attention. I had been sure that I would die in the Arena but now that I am here and given the circumstances of my freedom, I begin to feel a disconsolate terror for those I love still in District 12. It wasn't so much forgetting Peeta as being reminded that there were now others to be terrified for and those delicate birds that I'd released were fluttering back to me on fragile wings. I had essentially painted a target on their backs. Has President Snow already gotten to them? Are they even alive?

I feel the tremors of terror climbing up my spine. I don't want to say her name, don't want to see her clear blue eyes and long blond braid because if I do, I know I will come apart but she comes to me anyway. Soon, I am curled up on my side, sobbing. I realize how unforgivably selfish I'd been - at that moment, I'd acted out of desperation for Peeta's survival, reacting to the unbearable loss when I felt his life slipping away. I'd been so ready to follow him if he died that I never once gave a thought to the consequences if I was successful at saving all of us.

I lay there for a long time, immobilized by the sedative and my grief. Nurses come and go, tending to me, poking me. They bring me food, which I try to eat but swallowing becomes a monumental effort so I let them take away the trays the way they came. There are moments of fitful sleep consumed by fears made manifest - nightmare visions of trees burning and lightning strikes. A boot emerging from a clump of bushes. A blond child on fire. I wake from these visions emptier than when my eyes first closed until a paralyzing immobility slowly takes over me. I don't know how the time passes and there is no sign of anyone that I know. I've been plunged into a white solitude interrupted only by the scrambling of nurses like bleached scuttle bugs over barren rocks. When desperation threatens to send me down into that opaque terror, I think of Peeta lying quietly somewhere; healing, alive. _Alive_. It is so much more than I could have hoped for and it is this thought that distracts me from the hopeless plight of my family.

And so the pendulum swings from hope to desperation and back again until I hear the door of my hospital room open. Thinking it is just the umpteenth visit from one of the nurses, I don't bother to turn around. Gentle fingers come to rest on my shoulder, pulling me with their rugged tenderness, the smell of home assaulting my senses. I know before I am able to believe who is at my side. Ignoring the residual nausea, I fling myself into his arms.

"Gale!" I sob into his strong shoulder. I pull back, running my hands over his angular features as if convincing myself of the truth of his existence. He is burned on one side of his face and I pull back to see that he is dirty in a way that even the coal dust cannot render a person. His arm is in a sling and he is bandaged around his torso. The ebony hair that is so like mine is matted in places with dirt and grime. The premonition of earlier today seizes me, demanding to be acknowledged because if Gale is here, something terrible must have happened back home.

"Catnip." He smiles tiredly at me, a sadness pulling at the corners of his fine grey eyes.

Her name finally surges out of me because despite the incredible pain that awaits, I have to know. "Prim?"

"Your mother and Prim are both alive. I got them out in time," he says.

I exhale the breath I've been holding since I arrived here. "They're not in District Twelve?" I ask.

"No. Without any warning, the planes just started coming, dropping bombs everywhere. You remember what happened to the Hob."

I nod, sickened by the implications but unable to articulate what I know to be true. I remember the charred cinders, coal dust like so many more explosives to assist in the Capitol's destruction. District 12 burning. People burning.

"Peeta's family?"

Gale's face hardens but only just before he recovers himself "Only the middle one. Rye. Happened to be with some girl on the slag heap…" he shakes his head derisively. "The Merchant Quarter was the first to get hit. Very few made it out alive."

I want to block out the terrible anguish that I know awaits Peeta when he finally emerges from his coma. The pieces of me that I'd been holding together begin to dissolve and suddenly, I am not Katniss Everdeen any longer. I'm a mass of slowly erupting terror and grief and I want nothing more than to run into the nearest cupboard and shut the door against everything I hate and love. Because of District 12 burns, it burns because of me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, putting my arms up around my head to keep out the inevitable.

"Katniss…" says Gale in a broken, pleading voice.

I shake my head, not wanting to know. He gently pulls my arms down because Gale doesn't lie. He's the only one I can count on to tell me the truth. No matter how much it destroys me, he won't keep it from me.

"There is no more District 12." and it is not a statement, but a suffocated sob.

His voice crumbling in pain is the last sound I hear before the black fog of unconsciousness overtakes me.

**XXXXX**

**I'm behind on responding to my reviewers. However, I'm going to be extra diligent in catching up. It is really encouraging when you leave a message, even if there is something I need to change. So don't be shy !**


	6. Chapter 6

**I know I've taken forever to update! I keep using RL as an excuse but honestly, it has been a kick in the teeth. I also have some writing commitments coming up that do not involve either Persuasion or Good Again that I am very excited about but will be keeping me busy for the month of November, including the AO3 Holiday Fic Exchange and a piece I am writing for S2SL, an amazing charity that is worth checking out. The tumblr page is s2sl.**

**In addition, I am rec'ing fics with Nightlock Recs ( nightlockfics dot blogspot dot com). My feature is called WIP Everlark Recs with Titania . I will be posting reviews on a bi-weekly basis and linking those to my tumblr account (titania522). **

**HG fanfic rec: The Endless In Between by amazingpanemmemories. An AU mystery that involves a missing Prim and a tenacious Katniss who will stop at nothing to find her sister, with the help of a certain Peeta Mellark. Great read! Thanks, TitanNegro for suggesting it to me. **

**A huge hug for TiffOdair, for reading over P6.**

**And a million thanks also to my dear SolasVioletta, a pearl of a beta, writer and person. **

**Chapter 6 – Certainty**

I don't want to wake up. Even when I finally regain conscious, I don't open my eyes. Moments or years pass but I do not want to face a world in which District 12 has been destroyed because of me. I don't want to inhabit a reality that contains the firebombing of my home, the annihilation of Peeta's family, or displaced refugees in District 13. The wail that has been burning in my chest insists on being released and it begins, first as a whimper and then a moan – a low, bestial sound that rises in pitch and soon fills the room, the halls, all of District 13, maybe even reaching as far as the Capitol itself. It breaks my lips like a torrent of lava and I'm screaming, my back arching against the agony of so much death. It won't be repressed and the liberation of so much anguish continues to reverberate in my ears even after numerous hands descend on me, against which I thrash and buckle. After several minutes of futile struggling, I feel the pinch in my arm that pushes me back into the inky blackness again.

**XXXXX**

The next time I emerge, there is a heavy weight inside my chest. My body has woken to the horror of my life before my mind has. My heart is clenched tightly as I recall the events that have brought me here - Peeta's shattered skull, Gale's burnt face, the image of the inferno that destroys so much human flesh and I can no longer breathe. It gets so bad that I'm gasping and gulping in air that seems to have evaporated and I start to claw at my neck. The feeling of panic overwhelms me, every nerve in my body humming as if preparing to carry me out of this room. I attempt to sit up and remember my head at the last minute, the world spinning in response. Vomit bubbles up through my throat and explodes onto my bed; a warm, acrid pool soaking through the hospital sheets.

**XXXXX**

When I finally resurface completely, I am restrained to the bed. My head has rolled to the side and I open to the capsized vision of Haymitch sitting in a nearby chair. His fingers are steepled before his mouth, a bandage covering one eye and the left side of his face. He stares at me almost unblinkingly with his one uncovered eye. I want to ask him how long he has been sitting there but the urge disappears under a thick blanket of loathing. I want to turn away from him but that would be handing him too much power over me so I stare back at him with the same intensity, daring him to speak.

"Katniss…" he begins.

I swallow instinctively, my mouth dry and empty of saliva. "Die." I whisper.

His eye widens a moment but resumes its steady gaze. "I already have," he states in such a matter-of-fact way.

"You…should have… let me die, too." I slur, my mouth unable to hold words.

"You know now that was never an option." He lowers his hands so that his speech is not muffled. "I'm still your mentor. But you have to get the bug out of your ass first so I can help you."

His audacity gives me strength and I turn my head, releasing a gasp of dry, mirthless laughter. "Go.. to hell."

"Been there. Let's just get this over with." He lowers his elbows to his knees, leaning forward. "There are bigger things here than any one of us. We couldn't risk you and Peeta knowing what was happening because too much went into planning things and too many lives were at stake."

I sat stone silent, feeling pig-headed and obstinate. Being pissed with Haymitch is the only thing that feels good to me at the moment.

"And yes, some Victors had to be sacrificed to get you out." He pauses. "They all went in there knowing that could be the cost."

"Except for Peeta and I." I murmur.

"Except you and Peeta," he repeats. "Look, let's just cut the bullshit. The second you pulled those berries out, everything stopped being about just you and Peeta. I was no longer able to make decisions based on your individual survival." I let my head drop to the side to study him. His eyes are haunted and his face haggard. I almost want to believe he has suffered something from all of this. Almost. "There is also the bigger concern of you both being captured. You don't even want to imagine what they would have done to you or Peeta if they had gotten their hands on you. They would have used one against the other and done everything in their power to break you."

I shivered at those words. I had a vivid vision of a captured and tortured Peeta that was so powerful, it was as if I were looking into the window of another life. The horror of it made me want to howl in pain again. It would have been so easy for the Capitol to destroy me, to reduce me to crawling into dark spaces, take away all of my courage until I could no longer function. My breath hitched when I consider how easily this could have happened and I shivered as if the ghost of that other life had passed through me.

"You can be as indignant as you like about all of this but in the meantime, Panem is in full revolt and we might just see an end to the Capitol's oppression. I _don't_ apologize for keeping you and Peeta in the dark. I also _don't_ apologize if your autonomy as individuals was set aside for the greater good and the success of this revolution." Haymitch took a deep breath. "However, I repeat, I am still your mentor. This is a new situation but I will be as honest as I am allowed to be." He sat back, observing the effect his words could have on me.

He was promising me nothing new. He was as honest as he was allowed to be before the Quarter Quell also. He had lied to me and I knew he would do it again if he had to. I would need time to process all the information he's given me so instead I say, "You..can help me, right?" He looks at me warily at the abrupt change in conversation before nodding.

"Bring me…mom and Prim; and then," I gulp as my heart lurches in my chest, "Peeta. I need..to see him."

Haymitch leans back into his chair and simply nods, his face unreadable.

**XXXXX**

I drift in and out of sleep and at one point, my restraints are finally removed. A moment comes when I am able to sit up without feeling the after-effects of the sedative and the sense of elation that brings is indescribable – trapped as I have been by my own body, but the feeling is short-lived given the circumstances. I am able to eat, though the food is rationed and tastes terribly bland. A bath follows which brings another elusive feeling of joy at my regained independence.

When I am dressed, I move about my room like a caged animal. I still can't think of District 12 without a shard of ice slicing through my chest. But I'm anxious to leave this bird cage and find my sister and mother – if only I knew where to look! I'm not even sure what is outside these four walls but whatever it is, I needed to see it. With my resolution firmly in place, I walk towards the door but as I reach for the handle, the door sweeps inward and the most beautiful vision I'd ever seen in my life greets my eyes. Her small body is in my arms within moments, the loose strands of her blond braid tickling my nose. If there is anything that can bring me back home without hesitation, it's Prim, with her little girl's smell, pale skin and powder-blue eyes. Thinking of home made a deep fissure open in me and soon her hair was bathed in my tears. I can try to be as strong as I like, I will never be strong enough for this.

"Katniss!" she whispers into my chest as she squeezes me to her.

I just shake my head, unable to speak and simply hold onto her.

"You're suffocating me!" she says between a gasp and a laugh.

I release her and look into her smiling face, the ball of tension that I've been carrying around inside of me unraveling like a spool of thread. Over her shoulder, I see my mother, hand over her mouth, attempting to repress her own feelings.

"Mom." I whisper, extending my arm, into which she walks. I'm clasping her to me and for a moment, all the rage and resentment that I've harbored towards her since my father died unspools also. The way that we hold on to each other, it is hard to know who is the comforter and who is most in need of comforting.

After a bit, it is Prim who breaks the spell. "Are you better now? Dr. Aurelius told us you had a concussion."

I smile at her, wiping the moisture from my now puffy face. "Yeah, much better, especially without the sedatives. They're awful." She is still my little sister and yet she has changed. There is something more angular about her face, less baby-like. It saddens me that the last year would have aged her and taken her deeper into adulthood than under normal circumstances. She would not be my little duck much longer.

We sit on my bed, my hands never letting go of either of them as Prim tells me how everything happened. "One minute, we were watching you shoot an arrow over the arena when everything went black, next thing we know, the sky over 12 is full of hovercrafts." She shivers as she tells me this and the trauma of seeing these things is visible in her eyes. I squeeze her hand gently to give her courage, which she returns with a soft squeeze of her own.

"So there we were, sitting at our kitchen table, with a dead television and I had this awful feeling. There was no explanation for it and then…" her voice trails off and I can almost hear her heart pounding in her chest. She describes the hail of fire, the explosions, Gale and the men of the Seam raising the warning. She is present at the tearing down of the electric fence and Gale who tries to contain the chaos and desperation as he leads the survivors out into the woods, towards the meadow and the lake. Prim and mother set up triage, relying on the herbs they find in nearby.

He was indispensable – the only one who knew those woods better than I. And those three long, terrifying days - Gale fighting to keep a group of people who were so good at being hungry from finally succumbing. _He had two sets of bows and arrows, one hunting knife, one fishing net, and over eight hundred terrified people to feed -_ he managed to keep them alive until the District 13 hovercrafts came to pick up the refugees. And all the while, District 12 burned, a hideous gray cloud of human ash over the place we once called our home.

Silence falls on us when Prim is done. I'm empty again, beyond shock and grief, a gaping black hole yawning open in the pit of my stomach. I have nothing for so much suffering and it is possible I've finally reached the limits of comprehending my grief, that the elastic is so far stretched, it would finally snap. In an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, Prim begins to describe the rooms we were assigned – every refugee has a room in this giant District. All the quarters are underground and almost identical to one another. The same thing is true for the uniforms that everyone wears. It is the complete opposite of Capitol decadence.

My mother sits by quietly, letting Prim race ahead with her explanations as she looks at me with fixed eyes, not the passive gaze of the waifish mom I know, but with the eye of a healer. I can tell she wants to question me but Prim's continuous chatter kept her from speaking her mind. Finally, I place a hand on Prim's leg, which has the effect of quieting her while I hold my mother's gaze. I have a premonition of what she will eventually speak to me about and I feel vaguely nauseous at the idea of it.

"Katniss," she pauses gently, surprising me with the feeling in her voice. "Haymitch said we should take you to see Peeta. The on-duty nurse outside will show us where to go. He told us about the surgery." There is something else but it would have to wait. It is a conversation that could not involve my sister. "Are you ready?"

I breathe raggedly as my heart lurches explosively in my chest. Shuffling off the bed as quickly as I can, I walk without another word towards the door.

**XXXXX**

The recovery ward, as it is called, is not far from my own room. I take in my fill of District 13 – the rooms I peek into as I walk are as sterile and white as most hospital rooms but I walk past walls that looked like the interior of a factory. Everything was shiny and smooth – even the ceiling, with embedded lights blaring down on us, was an uninterrupted line. The monotony makes me shiver.

The nurse leads us to a set of double doors which have no handles. Next to the door is a large number pad and what looks like a large black button. Instead of punching numbers into the keypad, the nurse pulls out a small card and swipes it in front of the black spot, causing the doors to swish open. What greets us is another large room with a u-shaped counter in the middle, set with monitors and beeping machines. Along the curve of the wall around the open area are doors while in the middle of the counter sits a pale, blond-haired nurse studying monitors and making notes on a notepad.

I feel intimidated by the sterility, the brisk efficiency and utter lack of human warmth of this ward. Prim clings to my hand on one side while my mother watches the nurses quietly, as if to memorize every detail of their practice. This could have been her if we had not been so suppressed by the Capitol and the open longing and curiosity in her face is so painful to watch, I turn my attention to the nurse instead.

"I…ah…well…is Peeta Mellark's room nearby?" I stutter.

The nurse nods. "Yes, Ms. Everdeen. We've been expecting you. This way."

I grasp Prim's and my mother's hand, steadying myself as I follow the nurse to the door just adjacent to the opening of the counter. When she opens the door to the room, I am not surprised to find him largely as I had last seen him – a large bandage over his wounded head, intubation tube in this throat. What makes me ill is the sight of his head, the golden locks I'd run my hands through a few short days ago now gone, shaved off, no doubt, for his surgery. It makes him look frailer. I let my eyes take in his face, the unnatural scowl from the tube, the lids that I know hide the most striking blue eyes I've ever seen in my short, miserable life. Taking a deep breath, I reach out to touch his hand, careful to not disrupt the IV tube that is embedded deep in his vein. _ So cold_, I bring my lips down to his hand and kiss it gently, instinctively blowing hot air from my lips to warm the small patch of skin.

Prim looks at Peeta and then at me. "He'll be fine, I'm sure of it. Right mom?" she turns to our mother who has been quietly circulating the gurney, studying the IV, the readouts from the machines and eventually, Peeta's bandages.

"Yes, of that I have no doubt." She gives me a lingering look that speaks to me again and I drop my eyes to Peeta.

I hold myself together by gripping my sister's shoulders, feeling her very warm skin through the fabric of the grey jumper she had clearly been assigned when she came to District 13. I run my free hand over his arm. At least here, there is the soft down of his golden hair and I revel in the feel of it. My fingers trace a vein that travels from the bruised puncture of the IV up his forearm and emerges onto his bicep up to his shoulder. He wears nothing but the hospital blankets which increases his vulnerability in my eyes. I can't resist any longer and, releasing Prim, I lower my head to place a kiss on his forehead, turning my face so my cheek is resting on it for a moment.

"Rest, Peeta. I'm waiting for you." I whisper, my stomach in knots for what awaits him.

I linger this way until I am distracted by the swish of the doors to the recovery unit. I lift my eyes to see who has arrived and I gasp loudly. For a moment, all I see is Peeta and my heart gives an involuntary leap of joy before my eyes refocus, observing instead that while the resemblance is strong, this is not my Peeta. The man before me is stocky like him but slightly taller. It is clear he is older than Peeta but he still has the brilliant eyes and golden hair a few shades darker than his younger brother.

"Rye?" says Prim in recognition.

He doesn't respond right away, his eyes holding mine with a steady, cold gaze. If I didn't know any better, I could almost see them glitter with an intensity whose source is unclear. Before I can resolve the feeling I see there, he is turning his attention to Prim, where his face changes and he becomes a different person.

"We came to see Peeta." She says.

He looks at her with genuine gratitude. "I appreciate that. Thank you."

Mom steps towards him and takes his hand. "Our deepest condolences for your loss. We are here to help you in whatever way we can. Peeta is practically family and now so are you, dear." She shakes her head and, finding no other words to say, places a kiss on his cheek, which he accepts with closed eyes. Prim and I follow suit. His grief is so naked, it pulls at my heart because soon it will be Peeta's.

After a moment, my mother asks "How is he?"

He takes a deep breath to steady himself. "He's been healing well. They are going to take him off of the IV soon so he can come out of his coma. The doctors seem pretty optimistic about him." He finishes with a whisper. I imagine him alone in this strange place, his family wiped out, his brother laying in a gurney, healing from a mortal wound and I am moved by my pity for him.

"You're worried about him when he wakes up, aren't you?" I say almost in a whisper.

He gives me a cold, appraising look before his face softens. "How am I going to tell him what happened? What if it sets him back? Damn!" He turns abruptly, running his hands through his hair, making the thick curls stand on end.

I move slowly towards him and try to catch his focus without touching him. "Hey. We can tell him together. You don't have to do everything alone."

"You?" he almost sneers, and when his eyes turn towards me, they are an intimidating mixture of pain and anger and it takes me completely by surprise. "You're the reason he's here! Why are you even pretending that you love him? There aren't any cameras around!" His vehemence takes me completely by surprise, the boom of his voice startling even the nurse.

"Please lower your voice or you'll have to leave." She said sternly.

I ignore her as I reply "What do you know about Peeta and me?" I said, my anger rising above my compassion and grief. Prim takes my arm and gently tugs me towards her, as if to make me leave but I won't budge. It's invigorating to feel something other than grief.

"I know that you ignored him the minute you got back from the first Games. Then, when you had to do the Victory Tour, you were all over him again and then you were back to not giving a shit about him when you were in 12. Quarter Quell comes along and you become all lovey-dovey again. You don't need to fake it anymore. There isn't anybody watching."

"You don't know anything, Rye, and it's best you keep your opinions to yourself. You have no idea how Peeta and I feel about each other. And I promise you, I will come and go exactly as I please." I snarl back at him.

"I know how Peeta feels about you! He's been a walking sap since the first Games while you were too busy blowing him off." Rye got within an inch of my face, causing my mother to move to his side and take hold of his arm. "He is all I've got now and I'll be damned if I let you hurt him again! You listening to me, _Girl on Fire_?" He positively spits out the nickname. "I don't care if you fucked him on the beach, I will make your life miserable!"

I can feel Prim tense next to me and even some of Rye's own rage drains from him when he realizes what he said. In that instant of hesitation, I slap him so hard, the sound echoes throughout the ward. Now the arguing begins as mom pulls Rye back while Prim tries to keep me from lunging at him, the nurse pressing a button on her panel while she races to hold me from the other side. Guards appear out of nowhere and soon I am being dragged back to my room. When I'm inside the locked door, I'm so mad I kick the metal stand used to hold my meals.

And yet, from Rye's point of view, I had behaved reprehensibly towards Peeta, especially after the Games. I broke contact completely with him. How to make people understand that it wasn't Peeta I was rejecting but the Capitol's expectations for us? That I was trying to reclaim something of who I was before the Games and I knew I couldn't accomplish that if I had to also mind Peeta's claim on me? I could have been his friend – I am sorry I didn't try to do that then – but I was entitled to my self-preservation as well. No one who has not been in the Games can understand what that means. The fact that I am even justifying this to myself makes me even angrier.

I pace my room again, frustrated that I can't express my rage. After about an hour, I become tired and sit on the bed. Soon, the door opens to my room and my mother peeks her head inside.

"Can I come in?" she asks timidly, which is annoying in itself. She was my mother, for goodness sake.

"Of course." I respond tersely.

She sits down carefully next to me on the bed. "I think I've settled Rye down." She says. "He will be apologizing to you tomorrow." She sits quietly for another moment, watching me, perhaps judging my mood.

"Katniss." She begins and my stomach begins to clench. "I'm not going to impose myself on you. You've been taking care of yourself for a long time so I won't insult your intelligence by trying to "baby" you. I'm talking to you as one woman to another." She pauses, gathering perhaps her courage – mom was never bold unless she was elbow-deep in someone else's blood. "You and Peeta, in the arena – something's changed, hasn't it?"

I drop my eyes in embarrassment. "Yes." I whisper.

She carefully takes my hand. "You see, because I can't even imagine that moment on that beach, believing perhaps that your life is over, determined to protect Peeta and maybe being overwhelmed by your feelings. That's okay and don't ever let anyone judge you differently." She pats my hand at this. "It was the same way with your father. I just one day up and realized I couldn't live without him and I was right." At that moment, she seemed transported to another time and the half-smile on her face hinted at her incredible, paralyzing love for my father.

"But I had my certainty. I knew, down to my bones, that I needed that man to be my husband, that I would never be happy again if I didn't bind my life up with his. I'm almost certain Peeta feels that way towards you – he has never wavered on this." She pulls my chin up to look at her. "But I fear for you. I fear that you do not have that same certainty. You have given yourself to him in such a public way, you cannot be distressed when he comes to you with the expectation that there will be more from you."

I feel an anger boil up in me that binds itself with my previous rage, making me almost blind. I know I have to calm myself - this is her job, after all. She doubts me - doubts my sincerity after everything. Of all the things I did in that Arena, being with Peeta in that way had been as easy as breathing.

Sensing my mood, she straightens her back, readying herself for my reaction. "Mom, do you think I would have done that if I didn't think my feelings were real? Do I have to prove myself to everyone?" I almost slam my fist into the mattress in frustration.

"I don't mean to doubt you. But there are hard times coming. You will be called on to do things you never thought you'd have to do. You need to be sure - of yourself, your loyalty and your feelings." I avert my eyes at this. "Katniss! You made love to the boy in front of an entire country! It was rash and impulsive and completely understandable. But you have got to be prepared for the consequences because you did not die in that Arena." She becomes agitated as she says this. "You don't have to prove anything to me or Rye or even Peeta. You have to prove it to yourself. I haven't been much of a mother to you and Prim but you are still my daughter and I will worry about you whether you like it or not."

I desperately hope she is finished but I have no such luck. "There is also the matter of protection. I don't think birth control was part of the prep team's routine, considering you were supposed to be carrying his baby already."

Here I feel the blood drain from my face. "No, you don't think, after one time…"

"Katniss, I won't try to fool you. It is a small chance but there is a chance nonetheless. You have to admit the possibility…"

"No, it's impossible. It has to be!" I leap off of the bed and stand before her, my fists clenched, my mind struggling to reject what she has just said. "There's no way! It was my first time!"

My mother shakes her head at me and I know that she will not play into my denial. "You need to consider it. As soon as we are settled into our rooms, I will examine you myself." I raise my hands to each side of my head, trying to still my emerging tremors. My mother takes my hands and lowers them, forcing me to look at her. "No, Katniss, you have to prepare yourself for the possibility, however remote. It can change everything."

I'm left speechless and for a while, my mother leaves me to my thoughts. After a time, I let my mother lead me like an errant child to our new quarters to await what may come.

**XXXXX**

**_Italicized words represent direct quotes from Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins._**


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